Who'd Thunk It?, Part II
by alynwa
Summary: My take on a continuation of Uncle Charlie's tale "Who'd Thunk It?" Napoleon follows Illya after his discovery.


After Napoleon explained to Mr. Waverly why he needed to be by Illya's side, The Old Man managed to arrange for him to hitch a ride in a USAF cargo plane heading to Brussels that was leaving from McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey in two hours. He grabbed his getaway bag he kept in his office and took UNCLE transport directly there after informing Travel to book a flight for him departing Brussels for Kiev. He arrived with moments to spare and had barely buckled in when the giant transport began taxiing down the runway.

He made himself comfortable and then pulled out the translated letter and reread it. _There is nothing in his dossier about any of this! How is that possible? To cover, I told Waverly that a close friend of your family whom you knew as a child had died and it had hit you very hard and you felt you needed to be there. That secretive Russian has got some 'splainin' to do!_ He laughed to himself. _I must be in shock; _he's_ got me quoting Ricky Ricardo! _He forced himself to calm down for the eight hour flight so that he could get some rest. _This is all going to be very interesting._

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

It had not been easy, but Napoleon was finally able to convince some of the locals with his innocent face and cold hard cash that he meant no harm to anyone and was directed to the _vurma _or contact point that Illya's Roma family used to find one another in times of need or emergency.

Members of the Russian's Gypsy family listened to his entreaties and agreed to take him to Illya. They blindfolded him as a precaution and he was placed in a car and driven for what he guessed was about fifteen miles before the car came to a halt. He was led from the vehicle and walked about fifty yards. He heard the unmistakable voice of his partner raised in shocked surprise barking out in a foreign language what sounded like an order and then the blindfold was removed.

Illya stood in front of him dressed in white slacks and shirt with a red kerchief tied around his neck. His eyes were red – rimmed and it was obvious that he had been crying. Just over his right shoulder, Napoleon could see a bed under a canopy in front of a tent. He could see a body of a young woman dressed in beautiful embroidered clothing lying there. Glancing around quickly, he saw that they were in some type of camp in a clearing in the woods.

"Napoleon," Illya finally blurted out, "what are you doing here? And how did you find me?"

Napoleon had the decency to look embarrassed. "Well, I opened your letter by mistake, it's true and I would have left it at that. But you became so upset when you read it, that I copied it when you left the room and when you came back looking like you had been physically ill, I got a bilingual dictionary and translated it. Illya, why didn't you tell me you were _married_? And, how did that pass under the radar of the KGB, the GRU and UNCLE? But before you answer..." He pulled the smaller man into a hug, "I am sorry for your loss, I truly am."

Illya allowed himself to be enveloped in his partner's arms while he wiped tears from his eyes. When the other Roma saw this exchange of genuine affection, they felt comfortable leaving the two alone. Illya pulled back and smiled shyly. "I am glad you are here; as my best friend, you have a right to be. Come." He took Napoleon's hand and brought him alongside the bed where a young, finely dressed blonde woman laid in repose. "Napoleon, this is my wife Talia. She does not show up in any of my official records because, as Roma royalty, our marriage was arranged and performed when I was seven and she was five. If you translated my letter correctly, then you know my family's motto is 'In death, honor.' We honor the old traditions to bury our dead. I must put my attention back on Talia so I will not be able to explain what is going on, so observe and stay close. You will be fine."

Napoleon melted away to the back of the surprisingly large crowd of people surrounding Talia's deathbed as Illya returned to his wife's side. Tears flowed down the Russian's face as he spoke to the woman. He was not the only one publicly displaying his grief; both men and women were wailing in despair and Napoleon noted that some of the people appeared as if they hadn't bathed or shaved for days though they were also wearing red and/or white.

A horse drawn wagon entered the camp and people gave way as it drew close to the canopy under which Talia lay. A coffin was lowered and the men of the tribe, led by Illya, used the sheet to gently lift the body and place it in the coffin. Immediately, women stepped forward and began placing money, jewelry, some eating utensils into the coffin. Illya placed the lid on and after nailing it shut, he and the men lifted it back onto the wagon.

At that point, a small band of men playing dulcimers, violin and guitar stepped in front of the wagon and began playing while one man began to sing a mournful – sounding song as they led the wagon out of the camp. Everyone immediately fell in behind Illya and followed him as he followed the wagon. Napoleon saw that they were walking toward a cemetery and the closer they got the louder and more distraught everyone became. It hurt him to see his partner so overcome with emotion, but he forced himself to do as the Russian had asked.

There was no graveside service. The coffin was removed from the wagon and lowered into the ground while Illya and the others threw clumps of earth and coins into the grave while continuing to sob and call to the deceased. After a few moments, Illya wiped his face and turned away to return to the camp. He caught Napoleon's eye and, smiling shyly, put his arm around the man's shoulders and pulled him along.

They walked back to the camp and Napoleon helped as the men gathered wood to start a large bonfire. Once it was burning well, the women of the camp began to toss what he assumed to be Talia's clothing and bed linens into the fire. Illya leaned in and whispered, "Her possessions that have some value will be sold to non – Roms. All traces of her are to be removed from the home and her name will no longer be mentioned unless absolutely necessary. It is our way."

Napoleon nodded. Now that the funeral was over, Illya was keeping him close. He guided Napoleon to a large tent on the edge of the camp and when they entered, there was a long table set for eating. They sat near the head of the table where Illya's father – in – law sat. Large platters of food were brought into the tent and placed down the table's center. Without ceremony, people began serving themselves and eating.

Again Illya leaned in to whisper, "This meal is called a _pomana. _No one has eaten since the death, so consuming a lot is expected. There will be several more, but I will be expected at the last one a year from now where I can announce the end of my mourning."

Napoleon took a chance and whispered back, "When am I going to hear more about this aspect of your life, _Tovarisch?_"

"Someday, Napoleon, someday."

_I leave it to another cousin to continue this tale if you wish._


End file.
